RED STRINGS | ITADORI YUJI X FEM!READER

27

The next morning was routine—at least, on the surface.

Masachiro was already up, standing by the kitchen counter with his coffee in hand, eyes scanning over the mission report one last time. You sat at the table, strapping on the borrowed gear, the weight of it familiar but never comfortable. First Grades didn't need supervision, but you weren't just any sorcerer. You were Geto [Y/N]—a reminder of a legacy the higher-ups refused to forget.

It wasn't trust that kept Masachiro by your side. It was control.

"You sure you're ready for this one?" His voice broke through the silence, casual, but laced with something unreadable.

You finished fastening the straps, adjusting the blade at your side. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

He exhaled through his nose, taking a sip of his coffee. "Fair enough."

The mission was nothing special—another haunting ground for curses, an abandoned boarding school on the outskirts of Kyoto. The usual story: bullying, suicides, despair seeping into the walls, feeding the creatures that thrived off it. A festering wound of negative energy.

A place that felt too much like you.

You shoved that thought aside as you stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. Masachiro followed, adjusting the strap of his own weapon.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered.

Another mission. Another curse to absorb. Another step deeper into the path you never chose.

The abandoned boarding school loomed ahead, its walls stained with decay and history, a monument to suffering. A place like this, with its ghosts of the past, was a breeding ground for curses. It was no surprise a special-grade curse had taken root here.

Masachiro raised his hand, casting a veil over the area. The sky above them shifted, the world growing muted. Inside the barrier, the air thickened—heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm.

"Alright, kid," Masachiro muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get started."

You stepped forward, inhaling deeply, before summoning a few of the curses you had absorbed. Shadows twisted around you as they emerged—grotesque, shifting forms that were no longer the creatures they once were. They were yours now. Your tools. Without hesitation, you sent them inside the building ahead, their warped bodies slithering through broken windows and doorways.

Meanwhile, you and Masachiro began your own sweep.

Something felt wrong.

Cursed energy lingered in the air—not in thick, singular waves, but everywhere, like tiny invisible strands woven into every crevice of this place. Even if it was fragmented, you could feel it.

Too much.

Masachiro was still talking when your senses screamed. You reacted on instinct, turning sharply and hurling your cursed weapon past him. The blade embedded itself into a lower-grade curse that had crept too close.

"Watch your back," you muttered.

Masachiro let out a low whistle, eyeing the now-splattered remains. "Damn kid. Guess I'm getting rusty."

But you weren't listening.

Your eyes lingered on the curse you had just slain. Something was off.

Lower-grade curses shouldn't have had that strong of a presence. They should have lunged the moment they saw you, driven by instinct and hunger. But these? They hesitated. Their energy didn't feel like their own.